Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Down To It

I am down to the wire on this job thing. Is there something less then wire? Like down to a molecular thread of that wire? If so, that's where I'm at.

I am literally and I mean literally, waiting for an email that could change everything is a single click of a button. It's kind of crazy. Vote now on America, does John stay in the game, or will his life alter drastically in the next 2 days! It's pretty fucking wild.

The funny thing is if I get this job, it's not going to stop the slide, simply slow it down for a brief period. I'll be making enough money to sort of survive as long as I plan to sell stuff on a monthly basis. But at least I'm still in the game and have the potential of getting on solid ground sooner rather that later.

Job predicament aside, I have a lot of friends in the same boat as me. They rent their abodes, they are single and can't seem to get a solid relationship going. Time keeps pushing forward with no real glimpse of any kind of success. Is it like that for a large number of the populace, or do I just hang out with a bunch of losers that I seem to fit in with? (No offense to any of my loser friends.) It makes me wonder if it's like hanging out with a bunch of drunks and addicts so you can't see your own problem. If everyone is in the same boat, might as well keep on paddling, right?

Life is pretty silly, the more I search for an answer, the more junk just piles up and makes finding any truth that much harder. No wonder the end of Lost sucked so hard. It basically says, "You die, the fucking end." Really? I never knew that. I figured playing my cards right would land me with an eternal life span and a kick ass set of place-mats for the dining room table. Thanks for the clue Lost.

I'm just going to keep on counting seconds. Gotta tell you though, one really good thing about being flat-ass broke, I can feel better about turning down the bums who ask for spare change. Take that homeless guy who is even less fortunate than me!

Thursday, November 19, 2009

What Next

I have to consider myself lucky that I lost my job when I did. Thanks to the recession, unemployment keeps getting extended so I can continue to survive.

I'm not sitting back and relaxing, I continually look for work and find very little opportunity, even after joining job boards and a few subscription job sites. It ain't pretty out here. I've even started looking at stuff that seems ridiculous, like being a Whoville Resident at the Universal Studios theme park. I validate it by saying it's an experience. Something that I can add to my bok of stories to tell.

I've also done a ton of writing that has gotten me nowhere, but does help me hone my script writing skills. Again another thing I can chalk up as experience gained. But now what?

I've never been unemployed this long in my life and to say I'm itching to work is a bit of an under statement. I miss having the ability to eat out when I want without worrying about how it will effect my shopping budget. I like being able to buy new clothes and shoes when my old ones ware out. The ass fell out of my jeans the other day, so I'm trying to lose some weight quickly with the hopes of fitting into a couple pairs that no longer fit. Luckily the food budget is going to be a helper in that department.

I'd like to find a job that is in my field, even more preferably something that could help me with career goals, but that option is quickly coming to a close. That means a job that pays rent while I try to maintain the energy and attitude to keep me writing in the evenings. That's the toughest thing after all. Coming home from a mind numbing day of soul crushing and not want to sit in front of the TV and vegetate. An affliction that effects everybody.

If I had a wife or family, I'd have that thing to hold on to, keeping bread on the table for them. But it's just me... Well me and the roommate if I want to claim responsibility for helping keep a roof over a head. But really it's just me and I have to keep wondering if I'm worth it. Is my happiness worth the struggle to keep fighting for a dream that may be moving further and further away with each passing day?

Maybe I should just start a blog and clam that as my legacy... Oh, shit.

Sunday, October 04, 2009

Too Quiet

The heat broke and looks like it's going to say that way. This is good because I am no longer dripping sweat and turning on every fan in the apartment just to create a breeze that carries the scents of the dumpster into my room. It's a lovely smell.

But something new, actually old, has happened. I didn't really think much about it until I was sitting for a few minutes trying t understand why I was feeling a little down. Then it struck me how incredibly quiet it was. Without the rhythmic sound of whirling fan blades to keep me company I started to feel isolated. There was no activity, no life. There wasn't any life to begin with, but the manufactured noise made me feel like life was going on. It's like I've entered a strange limbo, not quite dead, not quite living. Very odd.

I'm actually quite enjoying the clack of the keyboard as I write, it just makes me want to keep going, but that's a little silly. If I did at some point it would just turn into random words. Cabinetmaker gingerbread high-tops construct the windy towers. See what I mean.

I wonder if real couples ever feel alone. Not the people who are in a relationship because they can't be alone, I mean the couples who want to be with each other. They do exist, I've met them. At least in my head I believe that's why they are together. This is starting to derail.

Anyway, When "real couples" are apart, do they discover the vacuum that I'm visiting right now? Is there that weird moment where all of the noise filters away, they look around at the dirty dishes and unmade bed then realize they are truly alone. No matter how close they can get to the person they love, no matter how much they share about themselves there is that place of togetherness that can never be reached. We're just vessels of consciousness, wrapped in flesh, never able to make real contact with someone or something else. Is this why we hunt down spirituality? To feel that something else is spinning around in our minds and souls that allows us to feel a togetherness that doesn't really exist?


So all of the movies and music and orgasms and that little zip noise that I hear when I strike my lighter is just a distraction. A way of keeping me from thinking of the inevitable truth that there is no true togetherness. See, now I'm just being myopic.

Maybe I'll try gross: A couple are in a car accident. They crash through the windshield together and for the few seconds that they are flying through the air, they catch a glimpse of each other and the same thought travels through their minds. "At least we're going out of this world together." Then they have to strike the pavement at the same moment. The asphalt shearing off their skull caps, snapping their necks and they die at the exact same time together. Ah, morbid love.

That scenario would never work for me. Because I'd also be thinking, "If we'd only left the house a few minutes later or earlier. I wonder if she's thinking of that? Naw, she's probably thinking of that guy with the hot abs in that commercial she saw the other night. Here comes the pavement. This is not going to feel too good." SMACK!!!! It was all just noise.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

4 Years And Counting

I didn't realize until about two hours ago that today is my sobriety anniversary. Four years, a decent start. Let's keep going, I think I will.

I was talking about it with a few friends a week ago and someone mentioned that it hasn't been the easiest time. I wanted to correct him and say it wasn't a big deal and then decide to think about it a bit. Here is some sorta-kinda math.

Great: 8 months
Good: 13 months
Bad: 1 month
Horrible: 1 Month

That's shy quite a few months. I think the rest of it was pretty much just life. Nothing incredible and nothing horrific. Just living like any other human does on this orbiting rock. That's two years and one month living my life. That's pretty good considering that's the goal. To feel human again. Not normal, I'll never be and never have been that, but I have been existing in the moment.

Someone asked me how is it possible? How can a person go through their life and deal with all of the shit without wanting to drink. The answer is there are times when I want to drink. I have always admitted, it's the drugs I miss more. Every so often, the idea of getting high sounds like a lot of fun. Then I think about where it will undoubtedly lead and stop myself. But, If I drink or if I don't drink, the shit-times are simply going to happen. Everyone feels stress and fear, anger and hate. They are valid emotions that run through anyone who isn't a sociopath. I just keep going moving on until the moments have passed and the regular rock-n-roll of life comes back into play. The pendulum keeps on swinging. I just refuse to let go right now.

The second year, that was the suckiest year. I don't recommend having to go through that one again. Just sayin'.

So what's up next? Gotta find a job and I gotta finish these scripts that I have been working on. This past year has been my most active when it comes to writing and that is a good thing. Let's see where I'm at when I report back in a year. It's never what I expect, maybe it'll be a good thing.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sync Whole

My mind is racing and going nuts. There is this verge of panic rushing through me, but I know it's just a brief phase. It's never fun to go through because it slows down my ability to get anything done, hence I make no progress, hence it stimulates the cycle of panic.

I pulled an all night editing session. I take these little gigs for the cash of course, but they aren't exactly healthy. The way it works is some bullshit company throws a party for their bullshit product, or chosen fashionable charity. This entails inviting a d-list of celebrities who are interviewed on a red carpet, get a goodie bag of expensive things, then sneak out the back door with the loot. My job is to take the footage, cut it down to a 10 minute show reel and it is then sent out to media outlets who use clips and D-lister quotes on news or entertainment programs. The party is thrown at 8PM and the reel needs to be done and out the door by 8AM. Therefore I work all night.

So I get no sleep, I'm jacked on caffeine, nicotine and candy bars. I grow out of sync with the real world. That is saying I'm in sync with the real world the rest of the time. This is up for debate, of course.

No one else is in my tree. I mean it must be high or low. That is you can't, you know, tune in but it's all right. I mean I guess it's not too bad.

Music quotes running wild.

So, I'm sitting here trying to get a grip when really I just need to give up on the day, relax, sleep sound tonight and get a fresh start in the morning. A tough thing to do for someone who is always trying to think or take in information, or output information. My sense of control goes on spring break and my concious ridicules me for it. Rather silly actually.

It all makes me wish I had a small office somewhere. A place I could go to work, so home could be home. Even if I slack off at the office, I'm there. When I slack off at home, I feel I should be doing something that will help me and my situation.

I just need to rest. Where the hell is the mailman with my Netflix?

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

The Fire Visits Home

It's fire season again and like every summer, it feels like the entire state is burning up. So last night, really early this morning at 3:00AM I started to smell smoke. My room is torn up with heat, so I'm already struggling to sleep. At first I'm thinking there must be a wind that is carrying smoke from the fires down to the city and it's strong. Then I realize it's bullshit. There is no way it could smell this strong from that great off a distance.

I look out my window and see nothing, but my paranoia of the apartment burning down wins and I get up. My urge to urinate beats out my curiosity about the fire, so the bathroom gets priority. That's when I notice I don't smell any smoke in the bathroom. Am I just having some weird sensory short circuit. Did I have some sort of odd dream and my mind was making up the smell?

I get dressed, debate for a few seconds about shoes and then go outside barefoot, paying close attention to the ground. No smoke. Odd. I'm sniffing around like a dog on a scent and I'm not getting anything. Then, like crossing an invisible line, it hits me. Very strong. Something is burning. It's the burning fire smell, not the electrical fire smell. But there is nothing to see. I'm looking up at apartments and trying to use x-ray vision through curtains ad blinds to catch a glimpse of flickering orange. Nothing.

Turning around I finally see it. The giant plastic lids are down, but I can see the glowing red of a fire emanating from the dumpster that is located beneath my window. Cockroaches are running in a furious pattern over the outside of the dumpster, their home is in flames and they have no idea what to do. Though it is not my wish to save their home, there is a strong desire to save mine. So I dial 911 on the cell.

Lot's of things are running through my mind right now. What if they think I set it? What if someone else has called and I look like a fool calling it in again. How serious should I sound? Then the operator picks up. I start to explain there is a fire and they ask me to hold while I'm transferred to the fire department. I hold about 30 seconds. Then I'm put through to a guy. I explain the dumpster is on fire in the back alley and give him the address. There is a bit of confusion because I'm calling from a Bay Area number in Los Angeles and a street named Detroit. The poor reception doesn't help, but it is sorted out quickly and I'm supposed to wait for the truck to get there so I can point it out.

I'm standing out on the street, hearing the sirens getting closer and for the first time ever, knowing exactly where the sirens will end up. The truck pulls up and I point out the dumpster, which looks very calm, now I'm feeling like an idiot. Maybe the fire smothered itself out.

One of the firemen follows me into the alley with a flashlight and as soon as the beam hits the dumpster, the visual of smoke pouring out of the seams takes over and I feel a little redemption. I'm not wasting anyone's time. This may not be the Hindenburg fire of dumpsters, but it's a legitimate fire. Some other firemen come running up and try to open the lid, but it's to hot and they ask for "The one inch" from the truck. Part of me wants to stay and find out what this mysterious "one inch" is, but the other half of my brain is screaming to get back upstairs and close my window before water drenched the dumpster and the pillar of smoke b-lines it for my room.

In a stupid way, I ask if I'm needed. Like they're going to say, "You can't leave. You're the key to our plan. We need you to help get this thing out!" In stead the guys says I can leave and thanks for the help. So I did my part. I run back upstairs, close all the windows and wait while lights flash, hoses begin to shoot pressurized noise, I'm also guessing water, and the situation is brought under control. It was probably no more then ten minutes until they were gone.

My room was now a furnace from lack of air movement and I kept debating if I should open the window again. I watched TV for another 20 minutes, decided my lungs could take the remaining smoke and my body couldn't stand the heat. Opening the window, the scent of burnt trash and roach carcasses wafted into the room and slowly, I drifted off to sleep.

All around, the situation went well. Nothing was damaged, I didn't spend the rest of the night waiting for the fire to be put out and I didn't have to club my roommate over the head and use him as a human shield to escape the flames. So as far as new experiences go, I'll give it a 7 out of 10.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Inglourious Spazterd

So I go to see Inglourious Basterds for the second time. I was a little off put the first time by some of the music cues and editing choices. I liked it, but I didn't love it. After a few days, I realized how long it was sticking with me, so thought I'd see it again. It's very good, I don't know if it's Tarantino's best, but very good.

So I go to the Dome to check it out. A great place to see a movie like this. It's a relatively empty theater being it's Tuesday in the early after noon. The only folks there are either unemployed, or on vacation.

This guy sits about 5 rows in front of me and as he's sitting makes a very loud "Frumph" that seems to have a level of pain involved. Whoops, it happens. Then he takes off his shoes, balances them on the back of the chair next to him. This is starting to get odd. He then spreads his legs and wedges his ankles in the seat spaces in front of him and starts spreading his toes. Stretching them like he was giving them a workout. Like he was going to a bar later and would impress the ladies by cracking walnuts between his powerful toe digits. Then he has a quick head spasm. Did you ever see the Mike Leigh film Naked? Ewen Bremner plays a Scottish fella who has a weird head jerk every so often. It was just like that, a Highland fling that looked quite jarring. Again, no skin off my neck, so I let the guy do his thing. Some people buy popcorn, some people make out in the back row, this guy does toe aerobics while trying to separate his head from his shoulders.

The film starts and everything is going swell. I'm into the film and have forgotten about the Spazterd. Of course, this can't last, he lets out another noise and jerks in his chair. It was kind of a "Fravvle", with a lot of nasal and that internal pain factor kicking in. A little while later, he does it again. I'm hoping this doesn't start to become a factor.

The third time he fravvled, It clicked. He made the noise whenever the text came up announcing a new chapter. He was angry at the chapter headings. He verbally did not approve of Mr. Tarantino's artistic choice in this matter. I waited for Chapter 4 to hit and sure enough the guy fravvled again, but this time was his most ferocious. I was enjoying the film, but was really waiting to see what this guy did when Chapter 5 came up since his anger seemed to be growing.

Chapter 5 flashes, he lets out a very loud "Fravvle!" Some one in the back shouts "Shut Up!". This really gets to the guy who takes a swipe at his shoes, still balanced on the back of the chair. They fly off into the empty rows behind him. He stands and fravvles his way out of the theater. He'd be stomping if he had shoes, but was more of an angry patter. A few laughs from the people near me who have witnessed this and we get back into the movie.

The movie ends and I stay through the credits. I get up, grab my bag ans start to walk out. As I'm hitting the exit, I hear an usher shout to the other employees cleaning the theater, "Hey, I found a shoe!"

It was a good afternoon.

Patterns Of Patterns

I am a person who latches on to a way of doing somthing and continues to do it that way even if it is inefficient. This is fine at times and at others a little more detrimental.

This thoguth moved to the front of my brain after driving to a friends house. I continually take a route that could be sumed up in two straight lines. North for three miles, turn left and head west for 2 miles, arrive at destination. This seems pretty self explanitory, but is actually the longer route. My west bound road has several more lights and probably delays my arrival by 3-5 minutes. It is a big deal? No. If I use the OCD side of my personality to figure out how much time, fuel, tirw ware that takes place during all of these travels, I might find it a little more problematic, but still very little skin off my back.

Recently I discovered if I turn west a block early, I save time and all of those other things that run throguh my mind. So I started turning a block early. The downside being is I'm tempted by a doughnut shop on that road, but that's not important to this pointless tale. What I keep doing, beofre I turn a block early is thinking about taking the old route. As if for soe reason, it will be faster, or I have some sentimental attachment to it. "Remember whe you used to drive that road? Good times, good times."

I realised how silly the thought was and that in many other aspects of my life I do the same thing. I trod the same path, only deviating when forced or find something turely beneficial. It's an odd part of the human condition, or at least my condition. It's a comfort thing, I know that. The road less traveled is scary for even the most daring of adventures.

I think/feel that I get myself into a lot of trouble because I find comfort in turmoil, not chaos mind you, but turmoil. I know emotional turmoil well and even though it is a painful process to go through, it is a comfortable spot because my mind knows how it works. It finds it soothing while my exteral self finds it fucking awful.

In recent years the goal has been to turn one block earlier. Fewere lights, less traffic a smoother ride even though it is still a road that needs to be travelled. Of course by subconcious continually wants to take the road I know. Foolish, foolish me.

As I was writing this, I realized that I've probably covered this before. Another pattern that I take comfort in to make myself think I'm growing.

Silly me.